


turn you inside out and lick you like a crisp packet

by radicalvodkaaunt



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, PWP, Swearing, and mesut likes playing with peoples emotions just to see what happens, basically its just, good not clean fun, sergio is a bit of a fuckboy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 15:13:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12171411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radicalvodkaaunt/pseuds/radicalvodkaaunt
Summary: Because somehow Mesut has never experienced a thunderstorm, and he reacts to that information in the only way he deems fit.





	turn you inside out and lick you like a crisp packet

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Every Other Freckle by alt-j  
> Photo prompt and a badly written kink prompt. I tried.

Somehow, in Mesut’s 24 years of being alive, he’d never witnessed a thunderstorm before. He’d be out of town when he heard all about it from his friends. He’d sleep right throw the rumble and the lashings of rain. Maybe he’s too immersed doing other things, that he doesn’t notice the weather at all, no matter how wild it could become. That was more likely than one would think, Mesut tends to get lost in his own world, and nothing much could wake him up from that. So, there’s a chance Mesut has witnessed a storm, but hasn’t even realised. But that scares Mesut a little bit, so he decides this is his first storm.

Mesut hasn’t experienced a lot of bad weather since he had arrived in Madrid, a little over a three years ago. He’d trained in heat that caused his body to feel heavy whilst his head was light, which caused him to feel completely detached, as if he was hardly even alive. Those were the worst days. The few days of rain meant little to Mesut however, some days he even prayed for the cooling spray of a rain shower, to take away from the excruciating heat. The Spanish lot deem rain as a lot more than a minor inconvenience, however.

Tonight, the rain was becoming a major inconvenience. The wind whistles through the buildings, the sound piercing Mesut’s ears, making the world seem that much more alive. And the flash of lightning lights up the whole room, so quickly that if Mesut had blinked he would have missed it for sure. But for a second the whole room had been on fire, and Mesut has to remind himself how to breathe to make sure everything really is okay. If he blinked he would’ve missed it, but he hadn’t, Mesut was sure life wanted to make the world as terrifying as possible, just to unsettle those who have got decidedly comfortable with her.

The thunder was a whole other matter, and it echoed in Mesut’s ears, made him wonder if the Earth was really real anyway. Or if this was a part of his imagination. It sounded like a helicopter overhead, but so much angrier. Ready to kill, Mesut felt his stomach churn at the noise, could hear his heart over the lashings of rain. How did he manage to sleep through all this before is beyond him.

Therefore, Mesut ran between his house and Sergio’s, the rain hurting his skin as it hit him in sharp, cold, splashes. He could feel his fingertips go numb, burning blue in the cold. His teeth were already chattering involuntarily as he stabbed the doorbell so hard, pain shot up through Mesut’s finger and into his hand. Mesut didn’t know much about frost bite, but he thought there was a small chance he had it.

The sky had turned so dark in the storm, black clouds blocking out the yellow sun, and then white light flowed from behind Sergio as he opened the door. It felt like an entirely different world inside compared to out. Perhaps they were untouchable.

Sergio, the unsympathetic bastard, has a smirk plastered on his face, and looks down at Mesut, who’s soaked to the bone and shivering a little as well, “Is the storm scaring little Mesut?” He moves out Mesut’s way, his sarcastic tone doing nothing to warm Mesut up, not in the way the heaters in the house do. Not the way his blood does as it rushes to his cheeks.

“Shut up,” Mesut grumbles, and he slips his shoes off in the hallway, the storm muting itself as Sergio slips the door shut. Mesut hadn’t realised quite how deafening it was until then, as his hearing clears and it is just him and Sergio. But that was natural for him, much more natural than this weather could ever be. Mesut licks his lips and turns back to face Sergio.

Sergio, who stands directly behind him, the smirk never leaving his lips for a second. It was as if he always had a quip to chime in with, a notation Mesut probably doesn’t want to hear. Except he does, because he loves the sound of Sergio’s voice, no matter what nonsense is coming out. And for a moment Mesut is calm, as he leans upwards, presses his lips to Sergio’s. Sergio licks his lips and Mesut let’s out a sigh. Suddenly he’s content again.

But nothing is gentle with Sergio, Mesut is sure he wouldn’t be able to define such a word, and soon Mesut’s hips are clattering into Sergio’s, and he’s being backed into the wall of the long, bright hallway. The world was so dark outside, but here Mesut was surround by light. Mesut pulled away, he looked into Sergio’s eyes, and all he saw was light.

“I miss you sometimes,” Mesut whispers. In the background he can hear thunder, in the foreground he can feel Sergio’s heart beat rise up and above his own. Mesut can’t help to trace fingers where Sergio’s heart lies, to feel the beat under his nails. As a reminder of the fragility of life and the circumstances that they find themselves in, and that feelings exist beyond chemicals. The heart controls an entire perspective reality of the world, challenges it just as much as the mind. Because without the heart, Mesut can’t feel a thing. Dead. Figuratively a lot more than literally.

Mesut can’t remember a time before Sergio, it’s all fuzzy, because the moment he met him, the second he moved in next door, every past event stopped mattering. It had been nothing at first, Sergio would shamelessly flirt with him, Mesut would consciously accept the attention without a second thought. It did more than boost Mesut’s ego, it gave him a reason to work, beyond games, beyond winning and the three points. He had to impress Sergio, nothing else was acceptable.

And somehow that mindset lasted a whole season, before Mesut collapsed and they made out on Sergio’s sofa, had gotten naked on Sergio’s sofa, had come all over each other as well as on Sergio’s sofa.

It hadn’t been the drastic change Mesut had expected, training didn’t change, feelings didn’t change. It was sex, with the occasional cuddle. Therefore, Mesut isn’t too surprised to hear Sergio’s exasperated voice, low in his throat as he tries to navigate Mesut’s more unfortunate advances.

“Don’t say that.” Mesut’s stomach doesn’t drop the way it used to, and his mind doesn’t go numb in that same way. Because he realised this was it long ago, and in all honestly, he hadn’t meant what he had said either. Just said it, to see what would happen, to make sure nothing has changed and nothing ever will. To be able to grin tongue in cheek and kiss Sergio again, a little bit rougher and with a little more teeth.

Sergio’s bright white teeth are sharp, nipping on Mesut’s lip like he’s a new chew toy, Mesut feeling the pain engulf him like flames. Engulf him like the thunder surrounds his hearing, overwhelm his other senses, leaving him senseless.

Mesut doesn’t know how, but he ends up shirtless in Sergio’s bedroom. Except its entirely expected.

So, it doesn’t surprise him when he’s on his back against sheets slightly too soft, and the sky outside is black, the room even darker. Mesut can barely see where Sergio is above him. However, he could feel him. From his head to his toe, he knows everything about Sergio and his body. He knows exactly how Sergio is going to kiss him, his lips slightly too delicate. But Mesut’s own lips had already gotten battered, deserved the delicate treatment.

However, suddenly, Sergio is sucking on Mesut’s bottom lip, paying his entire attention to the single area of skin. He is like a vulture, tearing apart it’s second hand pray one bite at a time. And Mesut whines, lifts his hips in an attempt to reach Sergio’s, who feels miles away and yet so close at the same time. Mesut is hot and cold, he can feel the frostbite forming in his toes.

But Mesut doesn’t receive the contact he thinks he so desperately deserves. Instead Sergio nips his tongue, making Mesut flinch backwards as a sudden onslaught of pain circulates in that single area. Only, Sergio’s hand if holding Mesut’s head entirely in place, so he’s unable to move a single inch away as he feels his tongue swell. His tongue is hot and Mesut is sweating, but he can’t pull away.

The pressure on the back of his head is burning, fingers digging into his scalp and nails feeling like tiny needles against sensitive skin. Soon he’ll be pierced, and blood with run rivers down his neck. Mesut let’s Sergio kiss a little deeper. He’ll let Sergio do whatever he wants to do to him. And now Sergio wants to ravage Mesut’s mouth, destroy him one feature at a time. Make his lips red and puffy and ruined by him alone. Mesut knows exactly what Sergio wants, and he’ll let him have it too.

Sergio eventually moves away, saliva dribbling down his lips and Mesut wants to lap it up, to taste Sergio despite everything else. But instead, wet lips land on dry throat, and he swirls his tongue along the skin, leaving wet marks like snail trails on Mesut’s neck. They tried their very best to not leave marks, but sometimes Sergio can get carried away.

And sometimes coincided with tonight. Mesut lifts hips, Sergio rips his neck apart as if Mesut isn’t even alive. Except Mesut is, he knows that because his heart bangs in his chest as well as his ears, and he can feel that pulse travel into his neck, where it flourishes hot red between teeth marks. Mesut cries out in pain and tries so hard to pull Sergio closer. He is already so hard.

Sergio returns to Mesut’s mouth, attacks the delicate corners of his little mouth, laps his tongue over the skin like an ice cream, smirks silently as he picks up Mesut’s thin wrists in his hands. He levers Mesut’s arms so they are up and above Mesut’s head, stretching his chest out, so every rib in visible beneath a layer of muscle. Mesut can feel hot pressure against his wrists, in contrast to the soft bed underneath, and each time Mesut wriggles his wrists, he feels fingernails dig into his skin, sharp like stinging nettles.

But Mesut had had enough of this unnecessary courtship, felt the need to let his feelings truly known, and he lifts his legs, tries to wrap them around Sergio’s waist so Mesut can finally get what he wants. Except all Mesut receives is a knee pressed unkindly into his stomach, and a mocking smile on Sergio’s unkind face. “Don’t move.” Is all he says, a low growl distinct in his voice, and he knocks Mesut’s legs together until he is straddled over them, leaving Mesut with nowhere to go.

So instead Mesut loops his fingertips around the bars of the headstand, feels cold metal scorch the bone below the skin, freeze his fingertips until they fell off. Or at least that could be the punishment Mesut gets Except soon his hot blood is melting the metal bars, and Mesut is completely at ease at that tiny bit of superiority he has over the bed itself.  And Sergio smiles when he sees this, because in his eyes Mesut is completely compliable to him, will obey his every order. And perhaps tonight that is true, but that isn’t always true. Mesut has power in that.

“Keep your hands there,” Sergio whispers, leaning down so he’s whispering directly into Mesut’s ear, as to not let a single word escape. And then Sergio takes his shirt off, making Mesut’s fingers twitch involuntarily. He wants to carve his nails into Sergio’s back, to rip him apart. Instead he grips the metal bars a little harder, so his fingers go numb. And Sergio grins because he knows exactly what he’s doing.  That drives Mesut crazy.

Mesut could feel his legs falling asleep from the way Sergio was sat on them. The blood couldn’t flow further than his thighs, his feet were turning black and blue, soon his blood would clot and he’d have paralysis in his legs.

How’d he explain that one to Mourinho?

At least that’s how Mesut felt when Sergio got off him, and he could feel his legs heat up from where the blood had been deprived, and the tingling in his toes and numbness in his calf muscle soon disappeared. But Sergio had only sat up to remove Mesut’s sweats, revealing a lack of underwear and the fact Mesut is hard. And Mesut sucks in a breath when he watches Sergio’s facial expression change from one of slight wickedness to that of quiet contempt. He sees the way Sergio licks his lips, and Mesut wants to tilt his hips, convince Sergio to have a taste. But instead he follows his orders and doesn’t move, despite every instinct that gnaws at his brain tells him to do otherwise.

“So, little Mesut,” Sergio says, his voice low and sultry, sarcasm gone so he’s completely composed. Even as he grabs Mesut’s dick roughly in his hand, pumps it once, then twice, making Mesut’s moans louder than any thunder, “Tell me what you want.”

Mesut can feel chills run up his spine, as Sergio lazily jerks him off. He lies perfectly still, looking at Sergio through hooded eyelids. Mesut knows what he wants. He wants to reach up and pull Sergio onto him, so his lips are stretched across Mesut’s dick, so he’s gagging around it. He wants to fuck Sergio’s mouth, so he’s choking, and tears prick in his eyes, then flow down his cheeks. And he wants to watch as Sergio swallows his come. And then, when he pulls off, Mesut licks the remnants of himself off Sergio’s lips and tongue. Tastes bitter and salty and just about right.

But that’s for a different night. Tonight was Sergio’s, because suddenly lightning lit up the room and in that brief golden glow he could’ve been God. With his perfect body and newly cropped hair and tattoos that were constantly multiplying. Mesut had never been thinking about what he wanted when the rain was pounding in his ears and obscuring his thoughts, and that hadn’t changed.

So, Mesut threads his lips between his teeth, the way he knows Sergio likes, because every time he does it, Sergio lets out a breath a little bit more powerful than a sigh, as if the air has to escape him, to leave him dizzy. And when Mesut speaks, he purposefully keeps his voice wild and uncontained, so it comes out in strained breaths and little huffs. The way Mesut knows Sergio likes. “Please. I, I want you to fuck me.”

Mesut hears Sergio groan through his lips, from deep in his throat. It was exactly what he wanted to hear.

“Mmm, yeah, yeah. Okay,” he replies, pretending to consider it, and kissing Mesut again, except slightly gentler. Perhaps as a type of thank you. Mesut has never tried to understand Sergio past sex.

Sergio rocks his hips, still clothed, against Mesut’s, giving the much-needed friction after he’d so desperately begged for it. Sergio had moved his hands to glide across Mesut’s body. From resting unapologetically on his throat, to trailing down his chest, thumbs rubbing hot patterns into his ribs, the bones so close to skin that even they were warming up. Mesut sighs audibly, lifts his hips to meet Sergio’s, to just get a little more as well as give some.

Except all Mesut gets is a slap on his thighs, hard enough to leave a red mark the same size and shape as Sergio’s hand. Because all the blood runs to those spots, desperate to feel Sergio’s hand as Mesut is. Just not like that. Mesut gasps, all the air leaving his lungs as if they were going to poison him otherwise, and Sergio’s sighs, rolls his eyes, “Just listen to me baby, it’ll be so much better if you listen,” Sergio is rubbing his fingers now where he’d hit, making it better. But Mesut’s nerve endings are over responsive, the pain making them alert, so every touch is feeling like a little bit more. So maybe Mesut doesn’t mind being told off, and perhaps he should misbehave more, “Can you do that for me baby?”

Mesut nods, because he’s always been a listener and a follower, and tonight that wouldn’t change, no matter what he wants. Because tonight he wasn’t a leader, although perhaps next time he will be. For now, he drops his hips down, feels the soft mattress and rucked sheets and smiles, sickly sweet with a touch of sarcasm. Sergio brushes his lips on Mesut’s forehead, and grabs the bottle of lube he keeps. Presented on top of the bedside table, the man has no shame.

Sergio moves Mesut’s legs apart, bringing his knees upwards to bend his legs, and Mesut let him be guided, liked the way Sergio’s hands were hot and heavy and just gentle enough. And Mesut’s thighs are quivering slightly in anticipation, a little in excitement as Sergio pushes one wet finger into him. He doesn’t get told off for those miniscule movements, however.

Mesut bites his own tongue to hold back a whine. Sergio is moving his tongue and lips and teeth across Mesut’s chest. And it leaves sharp pain and wet stains and soft tingles all along. And Mesut has to remember how to breathe, his breath hitching as Sergio scrapes teeth across a nipple and adds a second finger at the same time.

Mesut could be sure Sergio was the devil sometimes, sent to torment and destroy Mesut, one hickey at a time. And he does burn like Hell fire, Mesut isn’t sure it is normal for someone to be that hot, for someone to emit that kind of heat, it can’t be safe. And sometimes Sergio gets a glint in his eye, as if he has completely lost himself, and he’s craving something a lot darker than maybe he even understands.

Mesut feels desperate now, Sergio’s hot breathe scorching his skin and his whole body demanding more, more, more. Sergio crooks his fingers and Mesut cries out, “Please, oh just please, fuck…”

And Sergio was never one to deny such perfect manners from Mesut. And one condom and squirt of lube later, his lining up with Mesut. And Mesut cannot stop his desperate shaking, as he’s waiting. Sergio is so close, Mesut can feel his heat being given off like an oven when you first open it. Heat billows out then, and it does again, in the form of Sergio’s breath across his skin, the cold stormy air disappearing. The blood was rushing through Mesut’s ears, so he wouldn’t be able to hear the rain if it was still raining anymore. Now, the thunder had moved into his own brain, only so much louder than before, and so much more familiar.

What Mesut doesn’t expect, in the ecstasy of anticipation, is Sergio’s hand to suddenly be gripping his wrists, even tighter, even less forgiving. Sergio had moved as quick as lightening, a flash and he’s on Mesut in a second. His eyes were wild, and sometimes Mesut wondered if he was insane or in love. And whether those were the same thing anyway.

They’d slowly moved down, Mesut’s hands, from where he had gotten tired from holding them up. His arms ached. His fingers had gone numb, tingling as blood only moved up to his hands in trickles, the adhesion of blood less than that of water. Not even his ever-beating heart could pump the blood there. He hadn’t expected Sergio to notice- “I thought I said, don’t, fucking, move.”

And Mesut nods, vigorously, because Sergio had said that, so Mesut was confirming that he had heard too. And Sergio rolls his eyes whilst Mesut wondered if human nails are sharp enough to pierce human skin. “You won’t. Be moving again,” Sergio whispered, all breathy, his tongue licking over his own lips. He looks Mesut directly in the eye, and he sees Sergio take a deep breath.

That was all the warning Mesut needs, until Sergio pushes inside, a little too rough, but at the same time that’s exactly what Mesut wants, he wants to feel it all. He hears Sergio let out his breath in a sigh. All little habits of Sergio Ramos. Mesut cries out and his hands jolt upwards in Sergio’s grip, so he tightens it. Mesut wants to touch him. He wants to feel the sweat run down his back, the liquid to soak into his fingers as they slip downwards. He wants to lick the salt off his fingertips and taste every part of Sergio. He wants to be held down just to appreciate what he doesn’t have a little more.

And he doesn’t want to think anymore. Something which Mesut can achieve. Because Sergio has always been a little too quick and a little too hard to begin with. He thrusts into Mesut with no care for him, as if he’s fucking not Mesut, but just a person. If that made sense. However, at the same time, he places his free hand on Mesut’s chest, presses down on it, so that’s where his weight is being taken. Mesut struggles to breath under the pressure, can feel his brain go fuzzy, can feel his bones bending. And all Sergio can feel is Mesut’s heart, beating erratically, his blood pushing around his chest at an overly accelerated pace. He was remembering Mesut was still alive, and in this way Mesut could feel himself being choked out. Perspective is a funny thing.

And still, through harrowed breaths, Mesut releases a moan and a cry of Sergio’s name. He’s finally used to the pace, is stretching his legs out wider just to being able to feel Sergio more, as much as he can. He could only feel Sergio in the ways he is deemed allowed to, and Mesut was going to take full advantage of what he has. So, he whines and wriggles his hips minutely, and Sergio responds to every movement of Mesut’s. It’s a beautiful connection that they have. They can feel each other in the subtlest of movements, know what’s being said with a nondescript look across rooms. Mesut once wondered if that was love, but it is undeniably lust that causes it. And Mesut wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sergio himself looks like Heaven and nothing worse. His hair, God Mesut wanted to grab a handful of hair and pull on it so hard Sergio is the one crying out in some pleasure, mostly pain. And he has this look on his face of both concentration and ecstasy. But, Mesut loves to watch Sergio’s body. The way his hips move, like they’re made of water. And the way his stomach contracts and relaxes with every push and pull. Mesut could watch Sergio forever, wishes he never had to sleep and never had to leave, just to see. He loves seeing the muscles in his legs twitch, his arms quiver from propping himself up. Mesut worshipped Sergio’s cock. He never wanted that to end.

But Mesut can feel his vision going blurry, can feel himself losing sight of Sergio. His head is pounding.

Until Sergio releases Mesut’s chest, so he’s suddenly choking on the influx of air that arrives in his lungs. And then he uses that hand to press two fingers into Mesut’s mouth, so his lips wrap around them. Easy, natural. But he’s relentless, and he pushes them down Mesut’s throat, all the way to the knuckle just to see Mesut gag around them. And Mesut can feel so much. From the dig in his own wrists, to the discomfort in his throat, and then the pure ecstasy as Sergio hits the spot every time. And he can’t cry out in pleasure, can barely even moan as Sergio adds a third finger, stretching Mesut’s lips out. He can feel Sergio start to go erratic at the helplessness of Mesut, as he cannot move and can hardly breathe, but Mesut still has his eyes fluttering shut, will still sucks gladly on Sergio’s fingers, gliding his tongue along the tips.

Mesut knows Sergio loves power. He knows what he looks like right now to Sergio. A puppet to his own demands. But it’s Mesut who has the power to bite Sergio’s fingers off, he simply chooses not to. Instead he hollows out his cheeks, runs his tongue up his skin, scratches it across Sergio’s nails, uses this as a distraction so he doesn’t hook his legs across Sergio’s back, as he so desperately wants. And perhaps, in a skewered fashion, Sergio was being compassionated, because he knew that that was what Mesut would be about to do anyway. He was simply giving Mesut a welcomed distraction, so he wouldn’t move. Mesut continued to slick the digits with saliva. Continued succeeding in not causing the removal of those fingers. Mesut wants to grit his teeth and scream at the same time when Sergio starts fucking him too well, Mesut doesn’t know how he restrained himself, how Sergio was going to be left in his perfect condition after this.

Mesut could recognise the way in which Sergio’s moans became louder, the noise levels rose and the Spanish increased. Mesut loved the sound of his voice now, completely wrecked, coming out more like a broken radio, covered in static and forever stuttering. Mesut could feel it himself, because throughout Sergio’s loud, loud outbursts, he was staring at Mesut. Mesut, whose eyes were blurring with tears, as his gag reflex is consistently activated. Mesut, who couldn’t breath and kind of really likes it. Sergio was watching him with heavy lids.

Mesut didn’t need warning when Sergio came, he knew down to the second when he was going to.

Still, he loves the way Sergio cries, his moans nothing more than pathetic whimper, “O. O. God O, I love you.” It was a lie. Sergio often lied during sex.

His thrusts go crazy, makes Mesut’s mind go blank. His wrists start to bleed only slightly and Mesut had to tip his head back to stop Sergio stabbing into the back of his throat. Sergio lost control for a few seconds, as he passes through his orgasm. Mesut watches, can feel his stomach go tight at the way he looks alone. Mesut has never seen something so utterly primitive, so completely human. There’s nothing more vulnerable than a human orgasm, Mesut could feel that as he watched Sergio’s body convulse slightly above him.

And when Sergio opens his eyes, sees Mesut’s own dark eyes look so desperate, he scans downwards and sees that Mesut’s dick is soaked in precum, and then he manages a smirk. The fucker.

“Can you come without me touching, baby?” His voice is broken, desperate, and Mesut knows Sergio wanted the words to come out smooth, completely in control. Mesut smiled. Sergio had lost control the moment he’d grabbed Mesut’s hands away from him.

Mesut nods, but his head hurts and he feels dizzy, so dizzy. And his dick is throbbing, all he wants it for a hand or a tongue to touch it, and he’ll come. It’s so simple. But still, he nods and he watches Sergio as he removes his fingers from Mesut’s mouth. Sees it all as Sergio lifts them to his own mouth, licks the spit that drips down his hand off. He takes Mesut’s saliva, with all his bacteria and enzymes, and lets it soak his tongue. Mesut expected it was probably cold in his mouth, and that his fingers were even colder as air counteracts with Mesut’s hot spit.

The sight of Sergio, the idea of him tasting Mesut’s insides so explicitly, so Mesut could see it all, like an out-of-body experience. It was too much. Mesut came across his stomach, he screamed Sergio’s name, let himself be decibels louder than any storm. Let the entire world know, Sergio fucks him. In more ways than one.

And Sergio cleans Mesut off with his tongue, still not letting go of Mesut’s wrist. To serve as a reminder of who had dominance. But Mesut’s head has lolled backwards, so all he can feel is Sergio’s delicate tongue on his skin, the hum on his lips, and all he can see is black. Sergio’s tongue is hot and for once truly gentle, and Mesut’s head if cloudy.

The storm clouds had passed a while ago. It was just them and a cloudless sky. All he can hear is Sergio, who shuffles and breathes and occasionally talks, not that Mesut can hear him anyway. The entire world is suddenly so quiet, it is unnerving. All he can see is black.

And that’s all he sees until the moment he wakes up, sunshine a stark contrast to how Mesut had left the world. The universe was alive once again, God had forgotten his grievances, and it would be a hot day once again. Mesut could taste the humidity on his tongue, could feel the water evaporating from the grass. It felt like home, in Sergio’s bed.

Sergio snores by his side. It sounds like thunder, Mesut knows that now. It scared him just as much too. Waking up like this is domestic, and Mesut isn’t domestic. He employs people to cook and clean, he pays people to be domestic so he doesn’t have to be. That applies wholeheartedly to this. Mesut doesn’t feel warm, doesn’t smile at Sergio with his mouth wide open and his body vibrating with each snore that passes through his throat into Mesut’s ears.

Mesut gets up, gets dressed, and goes back home.

**Author's Note:**

> characterisation is bad in this one i know i just wanted to write this. Not something i've particularily written before, i don't know if it completely worked either, but just putting it out here now. i also know little to nothing about Mes at Real, Arsenal Mes is where my heart lies. feedback appreciated. find me on tumblr if you want url: fuck-football. thanks for reading :)


End file.
